


Two Sides of a Coin

by Ms_Adequate



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Background Poly, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Major Character Injury, Plague, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Reconciliation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Adequate/pseuds/Ms_Adequate
Summary: A large group of freed slaves carries a dangerous plague with them, so the only healer skilled enough to help is needed. But in the course of curing it, Anders and Fenris start finding they have more in common than either wanted to admit.





	1. Get Anders

The four people traipsed along the path. “I still don’t see why we need him.” The elf said with scorn. One of his companions turned and put her hands on her hips.

“Because he’s the only one who can do it.” Was her reply.

“There are healers all over the place, Hawke.” Then he pointed at another companion, “Bethany can heal. She healed you five minutes ago after that spider bit you.”

“That spider didn’t bite so deep.” Replied Hawke, “And Bethany can heal you and me fine, but this is a bit more than that. You know that. You saw them!”

“He freed them.” Added Varric. Fenris gave him an irritated glance.

“Or is it only important to break off the cuffs, and the Maker take the slaves after that?” Hawke asked, eyebrow raised. Fenris sighed.

“Fine.” They carried on along the path, and it was not long until they came to the small hut.

\--

“Nice place.” Varric said.

“Seems like he has a thing for out-of-the-way hovels. Still better than Darktown, at least there’s trees here. And air.” Hawke walked up to the door and rapped on it hard. She heard shuffling from inside followed by a cautious voice calling out;

“Who is it?”

“It’s us.” Bethany said, “Will you let us in?” The door opened a crack and a pair of eyes peered out with suspicion. Then the door opened fully.

“Welcome to Chateaux d’Anders.” The inhabitant said, standing aside to let the others pass. “The finest abode this side of Val Royeaux.” He and Fenris exchanged a look of mutual suspicion as the elf passed. Anders shut the door behind them. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he offered, “And let me know if you manage it, I’d love to know how.” A cat scampered out from under the furniture and bolted out of the door.

“How are you doing, Anders?” Hawke asked. Anders shrugged, the feathers of his tattered robe rising and falling. She could see his stubble was coarse and his hair matted.

“Alive. Okay. I suppose. I don’t think the villagers mind me.” He gestured idly at the air, at an angle bearing no relation to the nearest village. “I healed some of their sheep last week and no Templars have hunted me down yet.”

“I’m glad.” Hawke reached out a hand and touched Anders’ arm gently. She felt him flinch, then force himself to stay still.

“We need your help.” Fenris suddenly interjected.

“Fenris!” Bethany exclaimed.

“We don’t have time to stand around asking if the terrorist is well.” Fenris said, “If he’s not going to help, we need to move on and find someone who will.”

“Does someone want to explain?” Anders said, “I can hardly agree to help if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been sponsoring a little organization headed up by Fenris to get rid of slavery within and passing through the Free Marches once and for all. Good for the city’s image and all that.” Varric explained, “And we just helped Isabela with a Tevinter fleet, leaving us with a lot of freed slaves on our hands.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a fleet, exactly.” Hawke said, “More of a squadron, really. A flotilla at most.”

Varric ignored her and carried on, “The problem is, they’ve got… something.”

Anders leaned forwards on hearing this, a sudden glint in his eyes, “Something?”

“I’ve never seen it before. Not even read about it in the Circle.” Bethany said, “The people were hurt and hungry, but we can cure that.”

“The disease, less so.” Hawke added.

“And you want my help?” Anders asked.

“Having a few hundred refugee ex-slaves dying and bringing a plague with them might hurt the initiative a bit.” Varric said, “So, here we are. Best healer I know.”

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I should.” Said Anders.

“We’ll find someone else then.” Fenris said, and made for the door.

“Calm down there Broody, let the man think.” Varric said. Fenris stopped, but didn’t try to hide the exaggerated roll of his eyes. Anders had a finger to his mouth, thinking hard, sucking his teeth.

“Okay.” He said at length.

\--

Soon they were back on the trail, going in the other direction. Anders hadn’t taken long to get ready, just grabbing his staff and putting on a pair of worn old boots, then instructing a cat to take care of himself and the other cat, named The Purrishok, apparently. Anders himself had the air of a nervous cat, glancing around at noises and keeping to the middle of the group.

Without warning, a huge spider jumped from a nearby tree, pouncing on Bethany. It knocked her to the ground before anyone could react, but immediately Fenris had sword in hand and stabbed at it. Bethany kicked it off and while the others fought, Anders went to her side.

“Are you okay?” He said, serious and studying her for injuries.

“I think so, just a surprise.” Bethany checked herself over, “Help the others. I’ll be okay.” Other spiders skittered from the woods or dropped from trees, but now that the group was prepared, they had no advantage of surprise.

Still, they had numbers, and quantity has a quality all of its own. The group was winning, but here and there a spider raked someone’s chest with clawed legs, or sunk venomous fangs into a thigh. Anders fell into his role without thinking about it, without needing to discuss it or be told. He flashed a light of life at Hawke, sealing the gash across her stomach. Another one to Varric, not even registering what the wound was. Hawke again. Damned Hawke, could she not calm down for ten seconds? Oh Maker, that’s a big spider. Fenris, watch out! Wait, did I shout that, or just think it?

“Fenris! Watch out!” Anders shouted, his voice far clearer than his ragged appearance suggested. Fenris spun on his heels and saw the titanic spider skittering at him.

“Oh shit!” Fenris said, more in awe than concern. He rolled aside from a swipe, then jumped back from another, before taking a swing at the spider’s leg. He missed; the spider was fast.

“Might need some help here!” Fenris called over his shoulder. A shard of blue whizzed across the path and glanced off the spider’s carapace. Then some bolts came in from another angle, and one sunk deep into the spider, making it chitter in anger. Fenris saw his chance. He moved with impossible speed, his two-handed sword flashing through the air faster than any arrow or spell. One of the spider’s forelegs was removed at the first knee, and it hissed in anger, swiping at Fenris with a surviving leg. He dodged again, and Hawke appeared from nowhere to launch herself bodily onto the spider’s back, stabbing it rapidly over and over. It whirled with a scream. Anders glanced around the battlefield. All the other spiders were dead. Everyone was in decent enough shape.

Then the spider span back around to Fenris and flung its whole body towards him. He tried to dodge, but the thing was massive, and it crashed into him fangs-first. Anders heard a shout of pain and anger, before the spider stood up, tottered away a few feet, and died. Fenris’ sword was buried in it up to the hilt, and the monster’s body was studded with at least a dozen crossbow bolts and countless dagger wounds.


	2. A Feat of Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris sustained severe injuries, but luckily Anders is present to show just how good a healer he is.

Hawke hopped down from the thing and joined the others rushing to Fenris’s side.

“Oh Maker.” Bethany gasped, her hand to her mouth. Anders was already weaving a spell.

“Bethany, help. Poison.” His staccato commands brought her to action.

“You okay Hawke?” Varric asked out of the side of his mouth. Hawke, her eyes wide at Fenris, nodded.

Fenris lay gasping on the gravel path through the woods. A fang had sunk deep into his side right where the kidney lay, and blood fountained from the wound. His legs and pelvis were crushed, mangled out of shape and resembling nothing an elf (or any other species) could walk on. The elf himself was breathing through gritted teeth.

“There.” Bethany said, giving the elf a spell to remove the poisons the spider had delivered, “But everything else is beyond me.” She stepped backwards, horrified at just how severely Fenris was hurt.

“See to the others.” Anders said. His mind was racing far faster than his mouth could ever keep up with. He had already assessed the injuries, now he was figuring out what to do about them. Somewhere far far away he heard Varric’s voice saying “Don’t worry, Sunshine. Blondie’s got this.” A few neurons in his brain diverted themselves enough to hope the dwarf was right. Then they came back to the task at hand.

\--

Stop that bleeding. Lost a lot of blood. Will come back to that.

Kidney can wait. He has two.

Meld the pelvis back together. Bad fracture, but only a fracture.

Something for the pain.

Long bones. But crushed, not just fractured. Andraste have mercy. Broody won’t like this.

Wait, guts injured? Have to check later.

Long bones now. Femur, femur, tibia and fibula together, other tibia and fibula together.

Oh maker, feet. I hate fixing feet. Is there a single intact bone in there?

All at once, one foot, then the other. No time to rest.

“Lyrium.” Someone hands him a vial. He necks the whole thing.

Feet done. Elf unconscious. Creative swearer.

Tendons. Ligaments. Joints. Kneecaps tricky.

Muscles. Badly bruised, some torn. Can fix that. Mostly still connected to the right places, thank Andraste.

Skin torn in a couple places. Fixed.

Lost a lot of blood. Can’t fix fully, can help though.

Okay. Kidney. Spell for ruined kidney. Think think think Anders damnit think. Oh. Yes. Of course.

Guts. Stomach and intestines. They okay? Just bruised, nothing else. Okay, can fix that.

Any other injuries? Nothing bad.

There.

Anders had been sitting on his heels, and he exhaled heavily as he collapsed backwards. His face was drenched in sweat. He fell unconscious.

The whole thing had taken about eighteen seconds, during which Anders had managed to weave the elf’s broken lower half back together. The other three had watched in amazement as spells beyond counting had gone darting from the mage’s hands to different locations on the wounded body. This was orders of magnitude beyond the normal healing spells they saw mages use. Bethany felt especially overawed by it; she knew well just how difficult that was, and how short of it she, or any other mage she knew aside from Anders, would have fallen.

\--

That night they were camped just off the trail from where the battle had taken place. Anders was sitting on a log and staring deeply into the crackling fire. He felt someone sitting next to him.

“Anders.” The elf said, quietly. Anders stirred himself and looked at Fenris.

“Mmm?” He grunted.

“You saved my life. Bethany tells me it was the best healing she’s ever seen. So… thank you.”

“You’re… welcome.” Anders said, a little surprised at the elf’s sincerity.

“Was that all you? Or did Justice help?” Anders shrugged.

“I don’t know anymore.” He sighed and turned back to the flames, “Justice doesn’t seem to come out anymore, the way he used to. Not since Kirkwall.”

“But…?” Fenris pressed.

“But, he was inside me so long I don’t know whether he’s gone or not. I don’t know what it would mean if he is. How could I differentiate between his thoughts and mine? Can I? Are the things we thought so deep in me that it doesn’t matter, and even if he is gone, I’m still ‘us’?”

Fenris was silent for long seconds.

“Not the simple answer you were hoping for?” Anders’s thin lips pulled into a smirk between his long and ragged stubble.

“No.” Fenris agreed, “But it was a better one.”

“A better one?” Anders said, puzzled, “What does that mean?”

“Nevermind.” Fenris said, “I need to rest. I wanted to say thank you properly though. So, Anders or Justice or both, I’m grateful. I’m not ready for the Maker’s side yet.” He stood up and stretched. His muscles and bones were exhausted, pained from sheer tiredness.

“Still got slavers to stop?” Anders looked up at him.

“Still got injustices to stop.” Fenris replied, heading for his bedroll.


	3. A Place of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the plague camp, Anders finds that it is a grim and severe illness. But he insists on trying to do something about it nonetheless, even when his patients might not like it.

Anders stared out over the refugee camp in horror. People went to and fro, but the place somehow felt lifeless. A smell hung in the air, and it seemed somehow to gain a brief pulse of power every time one of the deep, percussive coughs from the plague’s victims rang out.

“By the Maker…” he ran a hand through his hair. Some city functionary jogged up to them and addressed Varric.

“Viscount, thank Andraste you’re back. Things are bad.” At a gesture from the dwarf, she went on, “We’ve done a headcount. Four hundred and sixty three souls, originally. Now down to three hundred and nineteen. Only about two dozen not infected. And…” she hesitated for just a moment, “We’ve started getting it too. Nine cases so far. Nurses mostly.”

“Well, that’s lovely. Post guards around the camp, nobody leaves without me saying so. Any word from our friends?”

“Not much good, except from Starkhaven.”

“From Choir Boy? Huh, well, I’ll take what I can get. Tell me.”

As they continued discussing the failure of the other Free Cities to lend much aid, Anders walked to the nearest tent and peered inside. The smell was far worse inside. He pulled back outside for a moment, and took some deep breaths. So steeled, he covered his mouth and stepped back inside. There were four cots, three with humans and one with an elf. A layperson could tell they were seriously sick. He knelt by the nearest, the elf, and started to inspect him. A typical dalish, except for the sickness. Short, lithe, with wiry muscles that belied real strength. He recognized the vallaslin, but couldn’t recall the god it represented. Well, whichever it was, it would be nice if they intervened.

One of the humans started coughing. Anders instinctively was at her side, and cast a gentle spell to soothe her. The coughing subsided, but it had produced blood. She gave a weak smile at him, then fell back asleep. This was definitely not a pretty plague, and if Anders hadn’t realized how severe it was from the very fact they had come to get his help, he realized it now.

\--

“I’ll need to talk to everyone. Isabela, her pirates, the sl-” The buxom Rivaini cut him off.

“Hey! I’m legitimate now. We’re not pirates. Anymore.”

“Sorry.” Anders gave her a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a little. She winked playfully back at him. “I’ll need to talk to your crew, and some slavers and slaves who are still in a condition to talk.”

He had toured the camp hurriedly that afternoon, inspecting tents, speaking to nurses and other mages who were trying to help, providing whatever soothing spells he could. It painted a grim picture. By the time the group met in the early evening, eleven more people had died.

Later that night, after speaking with those who were capable of it, Anders was again roaming the camp trying to help where he could. He now had some ideas about what might help, but he needed some supplies from Kirkwall and they would take a few hours to fetch, despite Varric prioritizing it over everything else. Until then, more work to help people.

As he stepped out of a tent, he was confronted by a small group of angry men.

“Mage!” One of them sneered, “We know it was you!”

“Excuse me?” Anders said. They might be referring to the Chantry which, yes, was him. Then again, they might not.

“You mages done this.” Another man claimed, “Trying to kill us all so you can rule.”

“I’m just here to help.” Anders said, making no move.

“Bollocks are ya!” Said a man with a thick Ferelden accent. This man, Anders saw, had produced a switchblade. He tensed up. He didn’t have a staff or anything with him.

“Now, let’s not be hasty. I’m just trying to help everyone.” One of the men doubled over in a sudden coughing fit, and leaned on a companion for support. “I can help him.” Anders gestured, “Just let me show you.”

“I ain’t letting some mage touch me.” The man said between coughs. “Damn mages ruined everything!”

“But I can help!” Anders pleaded.

“We’re the ones gonna help.” Said the apparent leader, stepping forward. Anders saw he had a heavy rock in his hands. He glanced around but there seemed nowhere to run. Back through the tent?

Suddenly one of his would-be attackers yelped and fell over. The others spun to see him nursing his leg.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” One of them asked.

“Stopping you making a mistake.” A voice came back. “Or are you waiting for the templars to save you instead? I have to say, I’ve not seen many of them around here.”

“He’s a mage like this one, look at him!” Someone replied.

“Get ‘im!” Someone cried. Anders heard the impact of fists and at least a couple of snapping bones, but in the torchlight wasn’t sure who his savior was. Until the remaining attackers scattered and the white-haired elf stepped over a groaning man and into the light. Of course.

“Good timing.” Anders said. “Thanks.”

“I’d heard a few people talking like them around the camp.” Fenris said, shrugging, “I worried some of them might work themselves up and act on it.”

Anders knelt down to help one of his attackers. A broken rib, nothing serious. A simple spell was already putting it back together. He looked up at Fenris. “Well, I’m glad of your suspicious mind.”

“Not him.” Fenris said as Anders moved to another beaten up man.

“What?”

“He called me a mage.” Fenris said.

“Ah. What a cutting insult. Well, you do sort of… glow.” Fenris gave Anders a hard look. “Anyway, I’m here to help everyone, no matter what. Think of it this way; if he insults you again you can beat him up a second time without guilt.”

“Fine. Heal him if you must. Then we need to get back to our tents. You need rest.” Anders finished and stood, but shook his head.

“I need to help people.” 

Fenris sighed. “You need to be rested if you are going to help people.”

“No, I can keep working.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Fenris said, “But you’ll be exhausted tomorrow when the materials you need arrive. You might make a mistake.”

“I won’t make any mistakes.” Anders snapped, “And I can help people tonight and then get to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Fenris snapped back, “You can’t save anyone tonight. We know that. And it isn’t your fault. You can save people tomorrow. But you need to be refreshed and clear-headed for that.”

“I can still help.” Anders said, “If I sleep now dozens could be dead in the morning.”

“They’ll die anyway.” Fenris said. Anders looked shocked, “I know you don’t want to admit that. But they will. You cannot save them. If you could, they would be saved. Let the others ease them tonight, and get the rest you need.”

“Fine!” Anders threw his hands up, “I’ll just let them die in agony I suppose.”

Fenris walked a few steps behind Anders, saying nothing, as they returned to the small cluster of tents that held the group as well as the Viscount’s staff. Isabela and Merrill were cuddling in front of the fire.

“Hello boys.” Isabela said, “Have fun off in the dark by yourselves?”

“That’s… I was…” Fenris was flustered.

“He saved me from some thugs.” Anders said.

“Ooh” Isabela leered, “Well you’ll have to repay him for saving you, won’t you?”

“Repay him? Friends don’t need to keep track of debts, do they?” Merrill asked.

“Oh kitten.” Isabela said, “I’ll explain later.” Anders went into his tent, took off his clothes, and was asleep within seconds.


	4. Fireside Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' brilliance stems the plague. His haste to do so leaves him exposed, however. Then he faces the challenge of trying to explain his cause to Fenris.

“Hey. Mage.” He heard a gravel voice speaking to him, but shut his eyes tighter. Maker-damned… Andraste take them… people always bothering him…

“Mage!” The voice repeated, and was joined by a hand on his shoulder.

“Whatist??” Anders managed, squinting in the light. Then, “sleep. Gway."

“Your stuff is here.” Fenris said. Anders opened his eyes and peered angrily at the elf.

“What stuff?”

“I don’t know, the stuff you asked Varric for. It’s arrived.” Anders lay still for a couple more seconds then jumped out of bed, shoving the covers aside and moving to the small portable chest of clothes.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been sitting there?” Fenris didn’t reply. Anders was stark naked. And it was… not such a bad view. Oh, the mage needed a bath and a shave, but the body underneath the dirt was actually pretty nice. A very smooth butt, for example.

“What?” Anders stood and turned to face Fenris, who was now blushing, seeing the mage, and his hard morning erection, full on. “Oh. Oh! Oh Andraste!” He dashed for his clothes again. Fenris left the tent in a rush.

\--

They said nothing about it through that day. Anders was far too busy with his work, and Fenris had no wish to distract him. He and Hawke kept a short distance away in case any more infected people tried to harm their only hope for a cure.

“So.” Hawke smirked at him.

“So?” Fenris asked.

“I saw someone leave someone’s tent in a hurry this morning.” Hawke continued to smirk.

“I woke the mage to tell him his items had arrived. Then I left so he could dress.”

“And there was nothing in between those two steps?” She nudged him.

“Oh Maker.” He rolled his eyes, “No.”

“Well, that’s odd. Normally waking someone up doesn’t make an elf blush so much.” Yes, that damned smirk was still there. Hawke thinking she knew a secret was the smuggest, most annoying…

Fenris coughed. Then spoke quietly. “Well, there was a slight mishap.”

“Oh?”

“He was uh… in his nightwear.”

“What part of that made you blush?”

“His nightwear was… is… nothing.” Hawke giggled.

“I knew it!”

“Don’t tell the others!”

“I tell my girls everything, Fenris.” Hawke said with sudden, entirely feigned, seriousness. Fenris growled and turned away.

\--

“Thanks, Blondie.” Varric said.

“Just doing what I can.” Anders shrugged.

“Well, what you can saved two hundred and thirty lives. I’d call that a pretty good day of work.”

“I wish I could have done more, and faster.” His alchemical concoction was not cheap, but Varric had fronted the money without questioning it. The harder part was infusing the brew with the right spells to cure.

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Isabela said.

“That’s right!” Merrill said, hanging off Hawke’s arm, “Fenris beats up people trying to beat you up. So would he have to beat you up? But then he’d have to beat himself up.”

“Where is Broody, anyway?” There were some shrugs around the table. Nobody noticed Hawke’s very brief grin upon imagining that Fenris might be busy due to memories of that morning. “Well, he can take care of himself. Thank you all for your help. You might like to know that Choir Boy has sent a delegation to help us out.”

“Sebastian? Really? Wasn’t he going to invade?” Merrill asked.

“I think the Seeker leaned on him to calm him down.” Varric said.

“He might yet, if he learns who saved the day here.” Hawke said, now serious.

“Well, he can try.” Fenris suddenly said, entering the tent, “It doesn’t change the facts.”

“Fenris? Are you feeling alright?” Isabela asked sarcastically.

“Yes.” He replied, straight-faced.

“Only you sound like you’re defending Anders.” Fenris shrugged, then sighed with annoyance.

“The damned mage saved me and then he saved two hundred other people. He deserves credit.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to kill him anymore?” Merrill asked with happiness. “That’s good. I like my friends, I’d be sad if you fought.”

“We’re not… oh nevermind.” Fenris stalked back out of the tent.

\--

Anders had spent the rest of the day rushing around tending to people. Was the cure actually working? How do you feel? Here, I can soothe that cough. Pregnant women, men with blistered and worn hands, cuts and bruises and splinters. So many issues had gone overlooked, issues that the slavers had little incentive to see to. Now it was late at night, and he sat staring into the bonfire. He didn’t seem to notice when Fenris came and sat too, stretching languidly then pulling out a book and a pack of food.

“How long until you lift the quarantine?” Fenris asked after a few minutes. Anders started, lost in his thoughts.

“Tomorrow, most likely. Maybe the day after. I’ll be able to say for sure in the morning.”

“Good.” Fenris stated. “I’ve run out of wine.”

“I’d offer some, if I had any.” He caught Fenris’ quick glance at him.

“I’m not sure I’d agree with your tastes.”

“How did a slave get such refined tastes in wine, anyway?” Anders asked.

“A Magister has many enemies.” Fenris replied, “One of my functions was as a food and wine taster. Or so I was told. After I became… this” he gestured at his lyrium brands “that largely ended, unless no other slaves were available. I was too valuable to risk.”

“Well, after saving me yesterday, I think I’m glad of that.”

Fenris grunted a noncommittal reply. He went back to his book and read for some time, before Anders, his eyes hot and sore from gazing into the flames, spoke again. It was a quiet voice he used, but Fenris heard him.

“Do you still think Hawke should have killed me?” Fenris looked up at Anders. The man hadn’t moved an inch, his stare still fixed on the fire (Or more accurately, a point infinitely beyond it). But his mind was here in full. Fenris snapped his book shut and turned a little, so he faced the mage.

“I thought then that Hawke should have killed you. I thought you were a dangerous and radical mage, and you had given final proof of that.” He sighed, and pulled his knees up so he could rest his chin on one, “Now? Now I think that Hawke’s decision may have been prudent, in the long run.” He gestured around them. “A lot more people would be dead if not for you. Could be this plague would have spread even further and taken Kirkwall, and from there, who knows?”

“I see.” Anders said, still and quiet. “I still killed people though. I don’t think it can be balanced that easily.”

“No, it can’t.” Fenris said firmly. He thought he saw a little flinch in Anders’ shoulders, under those ratty feathers he wore. “Why are you looking for my forgiveness?” Fenris pressed. “We never liked each other. We never got on.”

“We got on okay on card nights. Unless that was just to make sure the others felt comfortable.”

“No, that’s fair. We got on okay then. But my question stands, mage.” Anders turned his head and looked over at him.

“Because you’re the most honest person I’ve ever met. You use that honesty as a weapon at times, but I have never known you to shy away from the truth, no matter the cost.” Fenris didn’t reply immediately. Then he stood and came closer to Anders. If he reached out, he could touch the elf.

“A slave does not have the luxury of deceit, not when a spell can reveal the truth. Your master asks, and you reply. If a lie is discovered, you are punished both for the lie itself, and again for wasting your master’s time in finding out the truth.” He sat down, still just within touching distance.

“I… see.” Anders said. “I had not thought of that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Fenris held up a hand and cut him off.

“Do not apologize. Of all the ‘gifts’ Danarius bestowed, honesty is one I am comfortable with.”

“Justice insisted on it, you know. He said lying was a terrible injustice. But when the time came to act, when we decided that there was no peaceful solution left, I lied to everyone. Even to Hawke.” He poked at the fire with a long stick he had found somewhere, “Justice isn’t as simple as Justice imagines it to be.” He took a deep breath and then carried on, “He had no understanding of priorities. No understanding of time. Every day was a struggle, to convince him that patience was necessary. And yet he offered no doubts or compunctions about the innocents we would kill. Or the lies we would tell.”

“It sounds like even a spirit of Justice is capable of hypocrisy.”

“I think that’s why he left. If he has truly left, but I think he has. He couldn’t bear the weight of it. The act was not just. The consequences of not acting was not just.”

“So he left you to bear the weight of it alone.” Fenris said.

“I made my choices. I can’t say there was none of me. But Justice imagined a simple world, one where the right thing is avoided only because people are weak. He never grasped that it isn’t always that simple.” Fenris said nothing in reply at first. The mage had more depth and more appreciation of his acts than the elf had believed. Anders turned his head and looked right at the elf, his eyes so piercing that Fenris wanted to look away. They were inquisitive, clever, sensitive eyes. They were also, a small part of him noted, beautiful eyes. He ignored that part as Anders spoke, “Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“No.” Fenris said, believing it.

“Oh no, not for the mages. I understand that. But you fight and kill slavers regularly. What if you could spark an uprising by every slave in Tevinter, all at once? If you don’t, the conditions remain the same, maybe get worse. They are enslaved, and then they die. Single little acts of defiance occur, and are stamped out. But if you do it, there will be innocents involved, to say nothing of the costs of the rebellion, or the war, that follows.” Fenris turned his head and looked again into the fire.

“I… don’t know.” He admitted. “Mages are dangerous. Controls are needed.” He carefully avoided saying ‘you’ need to be controlled.

“Magisters would say slaves can be dangerous. They’d be right, too. How many slaves would plunge the knife that cuts their master’s steak into his neck instead?”

“A slave can’t do as much damage as a mage.” Fenris said, “Magic has to be controlled. If it isn’t, it can lead to Tevinter. Or that monster the Inquisition fought.”

“I thought you might have come to understand.” Anders said sadly, “It isn’t the magic, it’s the person.” Fenris looked back from the fire to the mage. “And the person can be made better or worse by his treatment.”

“Perhaps.” Fenris allowed, “I am tired, however. We’ll have to finish this conversation another time.” Anders gave him a soft smile, and Fenris felt his heart leap when the mage’s eyes crinkled in that way he had. He stood and walked past the mage, giving him a single gentle pat on the shoulder as he passed. “Sleep well, Anders.”

“You too.” Anders said, before his brain realized that might have been the first time the elf had ever used his name, instead of just spitting ‘mage’ out like a slur.


	5. Freedom's Claw and The Purrishok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris escorts Anders home, but gives him an interesting offer. Then a second, even more interesting one.

Anders and Fenris trekked along the path that led them back to his cabin in the woods. They hadn’t said much to each other, except to coordinate a battle when they were seized upon by a pair of ill-fated and grossly ill-prepared brigands. When they got within sight of Anders’s home, however, Fenris spoke up.

“So.” He began, with obvious anxiety.

“So?” Anders asked.

“I have been thinking, and I would like to make you an offer.”

“I’m not one to pass up a dinner date.” Anders replied before his brain could get ahead of his mouth. Fenris didn’t blush, but Anders did see the tips of his ears twitch slightly.

“That is not what I meant.” Fenris said gravely, “I am speaking about a job offer.”

“A… job?” Anders stopped.

“Yes. You saw those slaves we freed. Ignore for a moment the plague. Would you consider them in good condition?”

“Absolutely not!” Anders replied with force, “They were malnourished, injuries from splinters to open wounds from a lash, they had lice and ticks…” He shook his head. “If I didn’t believe that Varric was true to his word, I would have insisted on staying.”

“Yes, he is. And the people he employs are certainly capable enough. But the worst injuries were dead of the plague before you even saw them, as you would expect. We lose people. Every ship we bring to safety, some don’t make it. Every warehouse or basement we raid, chances are good some will die.”

“I’m sorry.” Anders said. “You truly care, don’t you?”

“Of course I care!” Fenris snapped, “I could have been any one of them.”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean that… just forget I said that.” Anders said, quietly. Fenris composed himself and seemed to accede to that request.

“At any rate, we need better healers. And we need them right there ready to work the second we free the slaves, ideally.”

“Aboard the ships, you mean?”

“Not just there, but wherever we might set slaves free.”

“And you’re asking me to…?” Anders let the question hang in the air.

“I want you to come and work with us. However you think you could most help. Organizing and training others, heading into warehouses with us, right there on the sea the second we set someone free, wherever your abilities would be most useful. Your decision.”

“Well.” Anders said, “Well.” He repeated it. “I admit I’m surprised. I didn’t think you would ever be asking me to come and work with you.”

“Not as surprised as I am, I can assure you.” Fenris replied, but there was a tiny smirk when he said it.

“Where would I live? What about food?” Anders asked.

“I’m sure Varric can find something if needed. Anyway, we’ve got a modest budget, I can pay you decently enough. Nobody’s getting rich from this job, but that’s not why we’re doing it.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.” Anders replied.

“Slavery is a terrible injustice. You know that. You considered the situation of mages to be slavery, and you took action against it.”

“You’re asking a lot, Fenris.” Anders said, as he turned to walk up the path to his cabin, “Come on in with me, I’ll need time to think.”

“Very well.” Fenris said. But, following Anders up to the door, he almost bumped into him when the blonde mage stopped and turned suddenly,

“No.” He stated. Fenris was about to protest when Anders carried on, “No, you’re right. It’s good work, isn’t it? I think I should do some good work.” Fenris nodded, but didn’t want to say anything that might change Anders’s mind. “But two things.” He held up two fingers, ready to count them off.

“Oh?” Fenris replied,

“One: You said that I decide where and how I help best. I expect that to be held to.”

“Agreed.” Fenris said. “And the second?”

“You will help me catch Freedom’s Claw and The Purrishok, and help carry them to Kirkwall.” Fenris goggled.

“You want me to… capture your cats?”

“Well, I expect Shok won’t need much catching, the lazy bugger. We might need a plan for Claw though.”

“How will we carry them? Cats are wriggly little things, all lithe and hard to hold onto.”

“I have a couple of wicker baskets that I brought them here in. They’ll be fine!” Anders said, turning back and opening his door. Fenris thought about it for a minute, then followed Anders inside. He took a seat where the mage gestured.

“Let’s rest a bit first though, it’s been quite a walk.”

“It has.” Fenris agreed. “Very well. Now, for my part, I have three requests as well.”

“Oh?” Anders leaned forward a little bit, his eyes clear.

“No, that is not accurate. I have an instruction regarding your work, I have a friendly recommendation, and I have a request.” Fenris spoke each word carefully.

“Go on.”

“The instruction is this; I know how hard you work, and how you’ll push yourself beyond your limits. If I or Varric tell you that it’s time to rest, you’ll agree to do so once you’ve finished whatever task you’re engaged in at the time.”

“I don’t like that.” Anders replied, but then he sighed and leaned back, “But I suppose you’re not entirely wrong. Alright. I’ll agree to that, for now at least.”

“Good enough.” Fenris nodded and leaned forward, gesturing with his hands as he carried on, “The friendly recommendation is that, your looks are your own, but you may want to see a barber before you get started. You’re a little…” Fenris didn’t finish, but Anders put a hand to his bedraggled hair and laughed.

“Fair enough. I’ll get cleaned up. Just for you.” He winked playfully, and saw those ears twitch again. Fenris cleared his throat.

“Well, that brings us to the request.” He said, then stopped. “No, nevermind.”

“What?” Anders asked.

“Nothing. It was foolish.”

“No, I hate when people do that. Tell me.” Anders said.

Fenris took a deep breath, held it, exhaled, breathed in a second time, and then, finally, spoke.

“I’d like to take you on that dinner date you mentioned.”


	6. Food and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date night begins!

“Do I look okay?” Anders asked.

“You look great, Blondie.” Varric replied.

“Yes, but is the elf going to like it?”

“You could wear anything short of the Archon’s senate attire and he’d like it. He likes _you_.”

“I have to make the effort though!”

Anders had shaved, bathed, and dressed in a pretty nice, understated robe that Varric had given him some money for. Now they were in Varric's mansion as Anders fussed with himself, though the dwarf’s patience was seemingly endless.

—

“Do I look okay?” Fenris asked.

“You look great!” Isabela replied.

“Yes, but is the mage going to like it?”

“You could wear anything short of the Divine’s robes and he’d like it. He likes _you_.”

“I have to make the effort though!”

Fenris had no need to shave, but he had bathed and dressed in a simple, well-tailored suit he had bought. Now they were in his mansion as Fenris fussed with himself, though the pirate’s patience was pretty limited.

—

“You look… nice!” Anders exclaimed when Fenris arrived. His stomach had been turning somersaults inside him and finally the elf was there. He didn’t look entirely comfortable in the suit.

“Thank you. You do too.” Fenris responded. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he spoke again, “Are you ready?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh!” Anders exclaimed, “Yes! I am!” The mage stepped out of the door and closed it, either not hearing or not heeding Varric’s call of good luck. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a nice cafe I know of. Run by a former Dalish. Lots of elven fare.”

“Oh. That sounds interesting!” Anders said, enthusiastically.

“I thought so. I haven’t been before. It might be bad.”

“Well, we’ll just have to be the test subjects!” Anders said, just about stifling his urge to giggle for no reason. _Maker!_ Why was he feeling like this? He’d been with people before. But this damn elf had him feeling like the first night after he and Karl had… well.

They walked through the Kirkwall evening for a bit. Anders had expected it would be difficult to be back but, surprisingly, it wasn’t. Perhaps that was because an extremely capable warrior who could rip people’s hearts out of their chests was with him. Still, it was oddly nice to be back in a busy city. Even this one. It was so crowded that you could just disappear into the anonymous masses.

Fenris was thinking about the cafe and whether it would be any good. You wouldn’t think it’d be hard to find somewhere to eat in a city this size. But he had found himself hemming and hawing. A lot of them were out of the question because they looked over the water to where the New Chantry was being built. That didn’t seem like a thing Anders would enjoy seeing, massive reforms or no. He personally didn’t like Orlesian food so that struck some more off. Ferelden cuisine would surely work well, but the only decent such eateries were in Lowtown, or lower, and that didn’t really set the romantic tone he wanted.

So in the end it was between this and a dwarven place, and that was too expensive. Oh, the money itself was no object, but Fenris would be a nug’s uncle before he paid this Gorim character the outrageous prices he demanded for his ‘fine dwarven cuisine, ingredients direct from Orzammar!’

“There it is.” Fenris said as they turned the corner onto a broad boulevard. Up ahead a cafe’s lights spilled into the streets and patrons enjoyed the evening air at some tables outside. A few other establishments also lined the avenue and gave the place the air of happy life. As they arrived a Dalish woman approached them, looking surprisingly comfortable in the wear of the city folk.

“Master Fenris.” She said with a small bow, “It’s a pleasure. Your table is waiting.”

“Please, just Fenris.” He replied.

“Oh, forgive me serrah.” She gestured and led the pair to one of the outdoor tables, “Orana will be along in a moment to get your drink orders.” She said as they sat, “But please let me know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

“Thank you.” Anders said, and Fenris echoed it. The woman left and Anders turned to his companion, “Very friendly here. You know them?” Fenris nodded. “Ah, well. Where’ve I heard that name before? Oriana?”

“Orana.” Fenris corrected.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“She was a slave that we set free. Worked at Hawke’s mansion for awhile.”

“Oh yes, of course!” Anders said, snapping his fingers as memories came to him, “Nice to see some other faces still here.” Then Orana herself appeared at their table and smiled.

“Serrah Fenris, Serrah Anders, it’s a pleasure to see you both tonight.”

“Uh, likewise.” Anders said, taken off-guard. “It’s lovely to see you. How have you been?”

“Oh I’ve been very well!” She replied cheerily, “Miss Fanora’s lovely, and Serrah Fenris is helping me learn to read.”

“Are you?” Anders asked his date.

“I am, when I have the time.”

“Oh it’s not a problem, I know how busy you are ser. Now, what can I get for you gentlemen tonight?” Fenris ordered a wine immediately; Anders simply decided on having the same.

“Even when we were at odds, I wouldn’t have thought to question your taste in wines.” Anders said slyly.

“Well, let’s hope time hasn’t dulled my palate.” Fenris replied. They browsed the menu and made their choices. Soon Orana was back with the bottle and some glasses, and she poured out the wine for both men, then took their food orders. Thanking her, they both tried the wine.

“Not good?” Fenris asked, seeing Anders’ face.

“No, it is, it’s just a bit stronger than I expected. More used to beers. Fereldan, you know?”

“True. Yet you are called Anders, not Ferelders.”

“When I was first brought to the Circle I was too stubborn to tell anyone my name. One of the other kids said I sounded foreign. Another claimed it was an Anderfel accent. I wasn’t in the mood to point out that it didn’t make much sense to drag a child hundreds of miles to Kinloch Hold, and so the name stuck.”

“Mmm.” Fenris said, thinking. Then, “Lucky they didn’t think you sounded Chasind.”

“Oh?”

“Not sure I’d be as interested in you if you were called Tombigs.” Fenris said with a straight face. Anders burst out laughing at this. The fabled hidden Chasind city was not somewhere he expected to hear mentioned tonight. He felt a great thrill of joy, suddenly, and let himself bask in it for a second as he wiped a tear away. The elf made him laugh, sincerely, and yes Fenris I did catch the flicker of a smile when you saw your joke landed. And on top of that he said he was interested in me!

“How do you know about Tombigbee?” Anders asked, trying to restrain his growing eagerness for the white-haired elf.

“I read about it.” Fenris said.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“I’ve actually amassed quite a collection. My mansion has a lot of shelf space.”

“It makes sense to put it to use.” Anders agreed, “So the mansion is yours now?”

“Varric had some papers drawn up. Seems the old deeds had gone missing.”

“Such a shame.” Anders said with a grin.

“Quite. I heard a rumor they were stolen by three women, two humans and an elf. One was dressed like a pirate, believe it or not.”

“No!” Anders feigned shock, “Surely a rumor invented by the real thief. Why, a crowd like that is just beyond believability.”

“Oh yes, I quite agree.” Fenris replied, “Still, sadly for the magister’s poor merchant friend, with no proof of ownership it reverted to the city. And Viscount Tethras decided to make a gift of it to a friend, he tells me.”

“A deserving friend, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?” Fenris was suddenly more attentive; Anders saw a little twitch of the ear tips that gave away the truth beneath his cool exterior.

“Willing to put aside old grudges for the common good. A committed enemy of slavery, but also a kind friend of its victims. Donates to ensure they aren’t forgotten after being freed. Why, I can hardly walk down a street without hearing someone talk about how this character, an elf no less, helped them win their freedom and find work in Kirkwall. I even hear rumors that he helps teach some of the former slaves how to read.”

Fenris coughed. “You can’t believe everything you hear, you know.”

“No, but these rumors seem to have some merit.” Anders smiled. Then, on an impulse, he reached a hand across the table and gripped Fenris’s, where it was lying next to his wine glass. The elf didn’t flinch or draw back, as he had expected him to. “You’re doing good things, Fenris.” Anders said, struggling not to lose his train of thought as he looked into the elf’s impossibly gorgeous eyes, and felt the warm hand under his own. He gave that hand a firm squeeze, “It’s okay to take pride in it.”

“I… thank you.” Fenris blushed. Orana appeared again and delivered plates of food. Anders had ordered a salad, whilst Fenris had decided on a grilled steak, with grated halla cheese as well as an assembly of vegetables. The conversation fell away as both ate; Anders found himself far hungrier than he had realized. But soon enough affection came back to the fore and they went back to chatting, mostly about irrelevant things, until they were finished and the bill was settled. Fenris tipped very generously, Anders saw, and he added most of the few coins he had on his body.

“So.” Anders said as they stepped into the boulevard again. “What shall we do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah now we're gettin' somewhere!


	7. Not Wasting Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris have that date, and decide that they're not as young as they used to be, so why dance around their desires?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't actually intended this fic to get very smutty at all it was more about fluff but these two idiots derailed that so HERE WE ARE. Anyway fair warning gay elf mage sex happens.

Anders blinked at the light. Light? Waking him up? But his room doesn’t face the sunrise. Oh. OH!

Fenris was still sound asleep, an arm draped across the mage’s chest. Anders kept still and looked at the ceiling, reminiscing about the night before. They had danced around the issue while walking home, but by the time they reached Fenris’s mansion, they had found their excuses to put their misgivings aside. But as Anders reflected, really it came down to this: He was used to hiding and being afraid for his life. He wasn’t getting any younger, either. He had decided not to let societal expectations or fear of getting hurt romantically hold him back from this.

And Maker that elf knew what he was doing! Anders thought about the touches and the sensations, how Fenris had been irrepressibly firm, but never rough, how it felt to have the elf inside him, pumping hard and deep and making the mage gasp with each thrust. He had enjoyed Fenris being in charge, and had let himself be guided into the positions desired. He looked down, and saw he was getting hard rapidly as he thought. But he couldn’t do anything about it without disturbing his sleeping companion, and he had no wish to do that. But he was so, so in need of relief. He slid his free hand down his naked body and took his cock in his hand, starting to rub as gently as he could bear to. No, it wouldn’t do the job, but it was better than nothing. And maybe when the elf woke up he’d get some help.

A moment later he heard a low growl and something grabbed the hand doing the business.

“Stop.” It commanded.

“I’m sorry.” Anders said, “Was that… do you want me to go?” Fenris pulled himself up a little and rested on his elbow, looking at Anders with those piercing eyes.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I said stop because you’re going to have to earn your release.” That deep voice, that command, that glare that would brook no dispute - it send Anders’s stomach into cartwheels. Fenris grabbed Anders’s wrist and pulled it away from his desperate member, leaving it pointing at the ceiling in desperation. He pressed the hand to his chest and Anders understood he was to keep it there; then the elf’s gentle fingertips traced up and down the mage’s shaft, barely brushing against it. Anders panted, his hunger increasing, but Fenris had no intention of giving him any relief anytime soon. The elf suddenly grabbed both Anders’s wrists and pushed them above his head, holding them in place with one hand. Anders struggled to no avail; the warrior was far stronger. He writhed beneath his lover, moaning and gasping at each tiny touch.

“Heyyy…” Anders whined when Fenris stopped touching him. The elf had a devilish smirk.

“What?” He teased.

“You know what!” Anders protested.

“Maybe.” Fenris said, “But maybe I’ve got the wrong idea. Maybe you should make it explicit.”

“You want me to be explicit?” Anders said. In reply he got a growl and a strengthening of the grip on his wrists. He writhed sensually. “I want you to do whatever you feel like.” He could feel the elf’s erection pressing against his thigh. Suddenly, moving faster than Anders could react, Fenris grabbed him by the ankles and pulled them up to his shoulders. Anders felt a twinge in his muscles at this position, and a rogue thought suggested he better start stretching if he was going to make this a habit. This thought was banished when he felt Fenris’s exploring fingers press him open, slick with lubrication that he hadn’t even seen the elf apply. Anders gasped.

Fenris worked his finger in then, satisfied the mage was ready, entered him. Anders gasped and tried to move, but the elf was keeping his legs in place and there was no hope of overpowering him. He whimpered as Fenris pushed deeper, and deeper again, then slowly withdrew a little way before plunging back in. That was all the warmup he got; Fenris was hungry and unrestrained, and took what he wanted. Anders was perfectly happy with this, despite the gasps and moans being fucked out of him. His legs hooked up on the elf’s shoulders, nowhere for his arms to go, he could do little but buck his hips in time to his partner’s rhythm.

It was soon enough, and Fenris shuddered and burst inside him. He let Anders’s legs go, and he unfolded, but Fenris immediately took the mage’s cock in his hands and started pleasuring him. Anders moaned and closed his eyes to focus on the sensation. He didn’t see it when Fenris opened his mouth and swallowed the tip of his cock, making Anders gasp loudly and shudder in surprised pleasure. He was soon arched his back and bucking his hips as the elf sucked and licked and kissed with unbelievable skill. He could tell that, if Fenris had wanted, he would be cumming in seconds, but he seemed to know just how to build up the pleasure and let it die away a tiny bit, when to switch between the softest kiss and firm, noisy sucking.

Even so, it did not take long to bring Anders over the edge, and his fingers grasped blindly at the bedsheets as he burst into Fenris’s hot mouth. Even during orgasm the elf knew what to do and where to apply pressures and sensations, to prolong the experience without going too far. Anders, finished, fell back into the bed and felt his body relax like it hadn’t in a long, long time.

“That was better than last night.” Anders said, breathless.

“We were both nervous last night. Wine notwithstanding.” Fenris said, snuggling up into the crook of Anders’ arm.

“I was a little concerned it was all a big prank, I admit.” Anders said softly, “I mean, you and me? Who would have expected that?”

“Isabela.” Fenris replied immediately, “She insisted our differences stemmed from mutual attraction.”

Anders laughed, “This won’t do much to change her mind, will it?”


End file.
